When You Fall Asleep Between
by D. M. Domini
Summary: When you fall asleep /between/, Nothing's quite as it may seem!


**When You Fall Asleep Between...**

By D. M. Domini

**Chapter One**

Robinton opened his eyes. Or perhaps he didn't; perhaps they'd always been open and his attention had just been aroused from slumber.

But aroused by what? The familiar blankness of _between_ surrounded him. He could not remember which dragon he rode, or which rider had agreed to take him to his destination...but then, he'd apparently dozed off just prior to entering _between._ Fancy that. He remembered his first, terrifying ride _between_, as a boy tagging along with his mother and sire on an assignment. Now, many turns after and many dragon-rides since then, he dozed! He _fell asleep_ a-dragonback!

He laughed merrily at that. Or felt like he was doing so; he couldn't see or touch himself. He was a mind, alone in the nothingness, amused by its own winding thoughts. He'd have to tell Menolly. Or Sebell. Or D'ram and Lytol. Perhaps Lessa. Would F'lar smile at this tale, or feel moved to warn Robinton that dozing while riding a dragon was dangerous?

F'lon would not. Oh, how different was son from sire. F'lar brooded and planned carefully. F'lon had acted upon impulse. Robinton wondered how Benden would have fared if F'lon had lived, had stayed Weyrleader. Would F'lar have taken a more prosperous Weyr from his sire, some fateful mating flight? Or would a trick of life and fate have made F'lon's impulsive leadership ruinous for an under-strength Weyr going into the first Pass in four hundred turns?

Robinton didn't feel guilty of that assessment of his old, long-dead friend as he might once have. F'lon had been F'lon, and Robinton could now see his negative attributes clearly, along with fond memories of the positive ones. How time cleared one's sight. It was probably a good thing, in much disguise, that F'lar and Lessa had led the Weyr into the Ninth Pass, instead of F'lon and Jora, even if F'lar had had to pick up the ragged pieces R'gul had let the Weyr decay into.

Still...he wished F'lon could have seen the things _he'd _seen. He'd experienced so many amazing things during his life...things he never guessed, not in his wildest dreams or craziest wine-fueled stints of undiluted musical creativity. It had been astonishing enough to pen lyrics _after_ events had happened. Fax's reign of terror and his death at F'lar's hands, the birth of Jaxom, and the Impression of Lessa. The approach of the Red Star. Thread.

And, after all of that! The discovery of Southern. The discovery of just how _big_ their world was, and how much yet unknown. The discovery of their origins! The AIVAS! The computers, and machines! The founding of Cove! Dolphins!

Robinton twitched, and awoke suddenly, the sleek, gray, grinning faces of ship-fins splashing and plunging into the ocean still in his mind's eye.

He was warm, his bedfurs tucked around his body. A pang of disappointment rushed through him, as he realized the _one_ cue that should have tipped him off that he was not flying through _between_: no cold.

Actually, he _was_ cold. His ankle, bare between where the short furs ended and his sock began, communicated insistently that it was cold.

He must have borrowed someone's furs. His were made extra-long to prevent this sort of irritating thing. Such were the perks to being Masterharper; clothing and bedfurs that fit. _Those_ were luxuries, not jeweled knives and other baubles, and never let anyone tell you differently! He drew his leg up so that the furs would cover the cold spot.

Just as he was drifting back off, someone snored. Well, it _was_ Landing. More people there than space to put them sometimes.

Landing. Robinton's eyes flew open, and he realized he had really better tell D'ram and Lytol about the AIVAS. Oh, they probably knew by now if he'd been sleeping any amount of time, but he'd been _there_. He'd been the _only_ one there. It was his duty to confirm that what it looked like actually was what it was.

With that thought, there was no use to trying to curl up and go back to sleep. He threw off the covers, both ankles complaining of cold, and he set feet to the stone floor of the blackened room.

_Stone_ floor. Was it really stone? He felt around with the soles of his feet, and yes...stone. Regular, ordinary stone. Not the precisely smooth material of Landing floors.

...had he actually gone _between_ in slumber? And if so...

He squinted across the room where a near-dead glow gave the faintest light through a tiny slit to let Journeymen with full bladders see their way...

...if so, why was he in the Harper Hall's east Journeyman dorm now?

#

"Were the guest rooms full?" he muttered to himself jocularly, testing out the jibe he was going to use on Sebell once he located him. He stood outside the east dorm now, in the much-better lit corridor. After all, it was more than a little strange to put the former Masterharper into the Journeyman dorms. He was more bemused than slighted. Yet...

Had something happened?

That wiped the little wry smile from his face. What sort of event would have caused them to recall him from Southern? What sort of event would have him sleeping while _between_ only to wake up in a dorm?

More importantly..._why did he not remember it?_

Oh, that was terrifying for a second. Robinton considered himself lucky, as he moved into old age. His eyesight had stayed sharp. His body, relatively hale except for the heart thing. And his mind-

There was a part of him that would rather die than lose his mind. He rarely spoke of it...but D'ram had known. As had his dragon.

Robinton took a deep breath, and moved down the hallway. He'd not put on his boots, for fear of waking the young tired young men all around him, and his socks barely protected his feet from the floor. He'd forgotten how cold the north was.

That brought another shaft of fear. Was forgetting little things like the climate another symptom? Then he chided himself, for a man who lived in fear was a man who didn't _live_, and he wished to live to the fullest until he could not. If his memory was slipping...D'ram would know. And if it wasn't, there was no reason to fear. His plans were set, either way.

But as he walked, he noted that the interior of the Harper Hall looked quite unlike itself. Or rather, it looked as it had looked turns and turns ago. In fact, as he slowed and looked around, it felt very dream-like, as he was visiting his childhood.

Oh. He laughed to himself. One of _those_ dreams-where you dreamt, then dreamt you woke up, and then discovered your dream had only shifted within itself and you were still asleep.

Of course, _now_ that he'd realized all of that-this had become a lucid dream. And a fascinating one-he hadn't realized he'd remembered so much from his past! He paused at a tapestry and peered at it. Beautiful work. He hadn't had a dream as fun as this one in a long time!

So he wandered around the silent Harper Hall, reminiscing. He went down every corridor, finding little surprises only someone that had lived in this place his entire life would notice-a corner that he remembered having the Masons repair, doors that had been replaced, a favorite rug that had finally been trodden on too many times for repair, and so had moved to his office for a time until Lord Groghe looked at it with an odd look on his face and Robinton realized his tatty rug didn't reflect well on the Harper Hall, so he'd moved it to his private quarters until Zair had set it on fire after one fall he'd gone to "help" the Fort riders with, and Silvina had later removed and fully destroyed it one evening when he'd been out.

"You have an exciting life ahead of you," he told that rug, as it lay there on the floor. "But I claim no responsibility for your ultimate demise."

"Rob?" a voice said behind him.

Robinton turned, and saw Silvina standing there, watching him. He wasn't sure he exactly wanted to interact with people in a lucid dream. If he had, why would he be dreaming about the middle of the night? Yet, here Silvina was, a stunning image of her much-younger self. He'd forgotten how pretty she had been.

Well, he'd never _forgotten_...it just was that a mature woman had a different type of beauty from a maiden. Silvina had the luck of having been attractive in both stages of her life. He smiled fondly. "You're still beautiful," he told her.

She blinked her large dark blue eyes in slight surprise, and said, "Thank you." Then her gaze flicked over him in that efficient, assessing way of hers, and said, "You're up early."

"So are you."

"The bread doesn't make itself."

"You'll have people to do that for you, some day," Robinton said.

She laughed. "I like your optimism, Journeyman!" Then she went past him, glancing at the rug he'd been talking to for just a moment, and went on her way to the kitchens.

Robinton watched her go, then clapped his hands together absently before continuing his exploration.

Some time after meeting Silvina, the Harper Hall showed other signs of waking up. A few Harpers he barely remembered, for they had been gone so many turns, greeted him in the corridors and welcomed him back to the Hall. It was a bit curious, since he usually didn't dream of people he didn't personally have some strong connection to-friendship, or political ally, or enemy. One of them hollered at him, "You forgot your boots, Robinton!"

"You're not supposed to notice the boots!" Robinton shouted back. Really, in dreams you just _weren't. _You could use the plucked corpse of a nestling wherry for a hat and nobody would care in a dream.

They just laughed at him.

Because the dream was turning into a soppy ballad of nostalgia-exactly replicating a morning in his younger days-he dutifully went upstairs to the Masterharper's quarters, just to see what dream-Gennel would say to him. He rapped at the door-

-and a woman called him in.

Of course. The Masterharper's wife. He felt a small pang of...dismay? No. Regret? Perhaps. Grief? Yes...that he'd rattled around these quarters alone all the turns he'd had them. The wife he'd had, had never seen him as Masterharper, and the wife he'd wanted-

-he'd never wanted anyone else. Or that's what he told himself-and the dream-firmly.

Still, he felt a bit melancholic as he opened the door and slipped in.

Master Gennel and his wife were wide awake already, morning-people that they were. They were eating breakfast in front of a wide-thrown window. Robinton noted that there was gap between the shutters and stone wall. Not much of a problem with rain, but the idea of thread wriggling in that gap made Robinton grimace. Then he cleared his throat and asked his former Master. "Do you need anything from me this morning?"

Gennel paused in his chewing and gave Robinton a peculiar look. "No. You got in late last night-I expected you to visit your mother this morning. Haven't you yet?"

His mother! A jolt of surprise-and sudden anticipation-spread through him. If everything-and everyone-was so detailed...how much detail would his dream-mother have?

"Oh, I can't believe it!" Gennel's wife said. "Look at him! He'd gone and forgotten Merelan until you reminded him!"

It felt like the dream itself-made up of his subconscious-were chiding him. "Oh, no, no," he said hurriedly, to whatever part of him deep inside was generating those guilty thoughts being expressed through the mouth of Masterharper Gennel. "I'd never forget my mother. I just didn't realize she was here."

Gennel frowned. "Where else would she be?"

"Ah," Robinton said, feeling a shadow of grief again. He wasn't sure if he should tell the dream this-but then concluded it wouldn't matter. "She died. Much too young. I didn't realize it when I was a young man at first-do we ever?-but as I grew older I realized that forty is nowhere as old as it seems when you are twenty. It's still a very, _very_ young and vibrant age. I've known many men and women, still in the primes of their lives..." He stared out the window with the faulty threadfall shutters, remembering how earlier in the dream he'd been thinking of F'lon. Who was also long gone. "F'lon too. And Kasia. And others. Very young."

"I'm sorry about Kasia," Gennel said, putting his fork down and rising. "But-"

Robinton uneasily began to suspect the dream was going to turn to something darker. So he shook himself and pushed away the dark emotions. "You're right, I should go visit her-" And he turned to rush out the door, knowing his mother would cause the dream to turn better again.

"Robinton," Gennel said, his voice containing an urgent note of warning.

Yes, the dream was turning. Was it still lucid? Robinton was no longer sure...but he _had_ to get somewhere before it totally broke apart.

His mother's quarters was as good a place as any to hide, although it probably bespoke of unresolved issues deep inside his mind...

"Robinton. _Journeyman._ STOP!"

The command, which would have once had him _very_ much stopped and attentive, instead spurred him on out the door.

"ROBINTON!"

It was amazing the energy one had in dreams. His body leapt forward with a power he hadn't had for turns and he raced down the corridors to the quarters he had grown up in.

Such a foolish choice. He was a "Journeyman" now, and when he got to those quarters, he realized they belonged to another small family, one with a child that was not yet grown-unlike himself. So he halted himself before he banged open their door and tried to remember which quarters his mother would have _now_...

But he didn't have long to think, because Master Gennel had rounded up some other Journeymen and they were running towards him, entreating him to stop.

He burst into motion-_good_ _heavens, how responsive his body was!-_and slipped past them and back down the corridor.

Now, other Masters had been roused by the shouting, and some stuck their heads out to see what was happening. Robinton ran faster, sure now that his mother's quarters were on the other side of the Hall.

But when he got there...he was wrong. Again.

Where was she? Where was she? "Zair!" he called, in his most resounding, commanding voice, willing, _demanding_ his bronze firelizard into the dream to aid him.

But Zair did not come.

He felt a pang of grief, and turned and ran back the way he came, past more confused Harpers and once again evading-but barely-the Journeymen who seemingly didn't really want to touch him.

Masterharper Gennel stood in the hallway in front of his quarters now, and Robinton, seeing this, ran back to him and skidded to a halt in his stocking feet. "I'm sorry, I don't remember...where is she?"

Gennel quickly grabbed onto his arm, and Robinton jerked back instinctively, but the Journeymen were behind him. "We'll get her for you," Gennel reassured Robinton, as if he were a child. "We'll also get a Healer."

"A Healer?" Robinton asked. Then he realized why he couldn't find her-she must be very sick at this point. She'd have a Healer attending to her-she might be dying now! "She's not-is she sick? Is she sick yet?"

"Your mother is fine," Gennel said. Then, to the other Harpers, "Bring him in here with me."

"Then a Healer isn't needed," Robinton pointed out, triumphantly.

Gennel looked deeply into Robinton's eyes. "We need the Healer for _you_."

#

Robinton sat on the couch in Gennel's quarters, wishing himself awake. But he couldn't. He was in a lucid dream, yet he could not wake up. How...irritating. Why was he wasting his time on this dream, instead of awakening and going about another day at Landing? He rubbed his face with his hands. "I could be doing things," he said, jittering. "There's so much to do. I need to talk to D'ram and Lytol. Perhaps tell the sleeping-through-_between_ part to F'lar and Lessa...not the rest...this is..."

Then his mother was there...and his sire...and a Healer.

His mother very quickly sat next to him and turned him to look at her. He gladly did so.

It was just as he'd said earlier-much, _much_ too young to die. Oh, how his memory had frayed and blurred like an old tapestry over the years, but seeing her now was like seeing her again, alive. His dream was far too realistic, like the pictures on AIVAS' screens. He swallowed hard and embraced her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her breath tickling his ear.

He relaxed slowly as she held him. "I didn't know where you were," he said. "It's silly, but I thought the worst."

"Petiron, can you close the door," Master Gennel said behind them.

Petiron did so.

"Whyever did you think the worst?" Merelan said, drawing back from him. "Are you still...?" Her eyes searched his.

"Am I still what?" he asked, not knowing what she was asking.

She glanced over her shoulder at the Masterharper and her husband and the Healer that had been called, then back to Robinton. "We were told you mentioned Kasia. I know you've been grieving..."

Kasia. "So I suppose I won't see her," he murmured.

"She's dead, Robinton," his mother said.

"So are you," Robinton said, and drew away as she stiffened. It was as if she were really shocked. "This isn't healthy." What his mind was doing to him.

"That's why I called for a Healer, Robinton," Master Gennel said.

Robinton snorted. "So I have a Healer hovering near me by day, and now one as I sleep too?"

His mother put a hand on his arm, as if his response had been out of line. He frowned at her.

"I'm afraid we won't know how much hovering I'll be doing until we figure out what is going on here," the Healer said gently. He was somewhat older than Robinton, but a man Robinton didn't recognize from his memories.

Robinton rose to his feet, gently detaching his mother's hand from his arm and putting it back in her lap. He went over to the Healer, and looked down at him. He still didn't know who he was. "Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?" the Healer responded.

"Master Robinton, Harper, currently of Cove Hold. Although I spend quite an amount of time in Landing, these days."

"I've never heard of those places," the Healer said.

"Very literal," Robinton mused, looking at the figment of his dream.

The man raised his eyebrow. "Are you implying I lie?"

"Not at all," Robinton said, and patted the Healer on the arm. "I'm the one known for my silver tongue. And imaginative mind." And with that, he made a decision...although the decision made his blood flow cold in his veins. But it was the only way, wasn't it? Pinching didn't work. Nor did trying to conjure something into the dream that didn't belong-like Zair. And he'd been waiting to just awaken on his own naturally for hours now. He wandered over to his old Master's abandoned breakfast table, and absently fingered the gap in the hanging of the shutters that would make any thread-fearing man shudder.

His body gave no signs. He kept himself relaxed. Therefore, nobody guess and nobody moved. He looked down and saw a small mark-sized tart on the Masterharper's plate. Maybe...he reached down and popped it into his mouth. It was delicious, with berry filling exploding across his tongue.

"Robinton!" his father said, shocked.

He couldn't ever remember having _tasted_ in a dream, though.

And nothing changed. He was still here.

This only made him more determined. With a sudden burst of movement, he jumped up onto the little table, knocking a pot of klah over to spill across the floor, but managing not to put his stockinged feet into the actual plates of food. Then he stepped into the deep sill of the open window. "To wake up," he said to them over his shoulder, "I have to die. Nothing else has worked."

"Robinton, _NO!_" his mother cried, and there was a flurry of activity behind him. He twisted sideways for his shoulders were too wide for the narrow window, and stepped deeper into it.

And then his head was beyond the outer wall, and he was staring down two floors to the hard stone flags of the courtyard.

There was a woman directly below the window, and at the noise she looked up-and their eyes met.

He gasped.

"Menolly!" he cried. She was the _first_ thing that did not fit into this time as he remembered it. The _first_ thing! The only one other than him that was not dead in the Ninth Pass. If he jumped _here_, he would awaken! He began to propel himself forward.

Her eyes went huge as he moved, and suddenly ten firelizards flew up and into his face. He yelled and instinctively threw his hands up and stepped back from the edge-and someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him back into the Masterharper's quarters. "No!" shouted, as fell within the deep sill, arm and ankle scraped open by the rock. "No! No! Menolly! MENOLLY! MENOLLY! PLEASE HELP ME!"

###

_When you fall asleep _between,

_Nothing's quite as it may seem!_

###


End file.
